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My fiction and sports writing are typically intended for separate audiences. Since I have a passion both for sports and for the telling of stories, I have found opportunity to merge them on occasion. In the past I have incorporated my enthusiasm and appreciation for basketball and boxing as major themes in short stories. I've touched upon football and baseball in my prose as well. Each of these are sports that I'm far more likely to be found watching on television than performing as an active participant. It has been a while since I last played baseball/softball, or a game of pick-up basketball, or a game of two hand touch football. Although I have been intrigued by white collar boxing for quite some time, to date I have yet to lace up gloves and go toe to toe with anyone in the ring. For my fortieth birthday I decided to give a new sport a try, wall climbing. Circumstances forced this opportunity to be delayed, but eventually I'll find myself imitating Spiderman. I've been told it can be quite addictive and do not doubt that this is so. Yet I strongly doubt that it will supplant my strongest sports passion, a game that I enjoy watching but would much rather be out doing for myself - tennis. Now that Spring is upon us, the days are lenghtening and temperatures climbing, I hope to be out on the court again on a regular basis soon. In the meantime, I happen to be writing a short story that focuses on a tennis match. A potential paying market for it has already been found, so hopefully it will be published in the near future. Stay tuned. Who knows? Perhaps I can do for tennis what Ernest Hemingway did for bull fighting. Two of my idols are pictured above. Hemingway's succinct pen strokes were brilliantly effective in telling his stories, much as Roger Federer's mastery with a tennis racquet puts him multiple levels beyond the reach of his peers. I took up the sport of tennis far too late to ever dare dream of elite status. Yet I stubbornly persist in trying to become as good and consistent a player as possible. My daughter Ava will be swatting at tennis balls as soon as I can find a racquet small enough for her to negotiate. She has already mastered the Serena Williams grunt and fist pump. As for writing with the skill of Mr. Hemingway, I haven't quite given up on that dream yet. Unlike tennis and sports in general, turning 40 does not place me well beyond my physical prime and incapable of progressing to top ten territory. When it comes to writing I'd like to think that I'm just beginning to hit my stride, with plenty of literary aces left to serve.
- Roy L. Pickering Jr.




